Enlightening Delilah

by Beaton, M. C.

  He was strolling along Piccadilly when he met Mr Peter Macdonald, an old friend from a Scottish regiment. They hailed each other with delight and Mr Macdonald fell into step beside him, saying he would go to the club as well. ‘And what brings you to Town?’ asked Mr Macdonald.

  ‘I plan to enjoy myself,’ said Sir Charles. ‘My time is my own. I have only one duty to perform. Have you heard of a couple of ladies called Tribble?’

  Mr Macdonald laughed. ‘I have only been in Town a month, but I heard about them almost as soon as I arrived. A great pair of quizzes.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘They are very good ton, but had fallen on hard times. So they began to advertise their services. That is, they swear they can take any difficult and unmarriageable miss and reform her. They have had two notable successes and the latest rumour is that they have just started off with a new charge.’

  ‘And where are they to be found?’

  ‘Holles Street.’

  Sir Charles changed the conversation and began to talk of the war. They spent a pleasant time in White’s, fighting old battles, and the matter of the Tribbles was forgotten.

  Sir Charles finally returned to Brook Street to find that Lord Andrew had left again, leaving a note to say he had gone to dinner and would be back late, but Sir Charles was to summon the chef and order anything he wanted.

  Sir Charles thought of the Tribbles again. They seemed an odd couple of friends for the squire to have. But he had promised Mrs Cavendish to learn about this Miss Amy. He had an early dinner and decided to go to Holles Street and find out for himself.

  Effy was sitting in the drawing room, sewing, while Delilah inexpertly murdered a piece of Mozart on the piano. Delilah’s playing was not normally so bad. She was puzzling over in her mind various things Lord Andrew had said that afternoon. He would start to ask her why she had been sent to the Tribbles and then hurriedly say it did not matter. Again she had said the Tribbles were old friends of her father.

  The butler entered and handed Effy a card. ‘Don’t know him,’ said Effy. ‘Tell him we are not at home.’

  ‘He says he’s a friend of Mr Wraxall,’ said Harris.

  ‘Oh, in that case, you’d best send him up,’ sighed Effy. ‘I do wish Amy would stop jauntering about to every unfashionable place in Town.’ She raised her voice. ‘Do stop playing, Miss Wraxall. We have company.’

  Delilah swung round on the piano stool. She glanced at the clock. ‘Does one usually receive callers in London at eight in the evening?’

  ‘No,’ said Effy, ‘but this is some friend of your father’s.’

  Delilah’s face lit up. It would be nice to see someone from the village.

  ‘Sir Charles Digby,’ announced Harris.

  ‘Oh, lor’,’ said Effy, suddenly remembering the name of the man who had broken Delilah’s heart. Delilah’s face was quite stiff and set.

  Sir Charles was staring at her as if he could not believe his eyes.

  ‘What are you doing here, Miss Wraxall?’ he exclaimed.

  Effy coughed gently and Sir Charles swung to face her. ‘My apologies,’ he said. ‘Do I have the honour of meeting Miss Amy Tribble?’

  ‘No, sir, I am her sister, Miss Effy Tribble. Pray be seated, Sir Charles. Mr Wraxall is an old friend, and my sister and I decided it would be a good idea to give Miss Wraxall some time in London.’

  ‘You did not tell me you were travelling to Town, Miss Wraxall,’ said Sir Charles.

  ‘Neither did you,’ pointed out Delilah. ‘So why did you decide to call here?’

  ‘Mrs Cavendish told me that the Misses Tribble were friends of your father and I thought it only polite to call and pay my respects.’

  ‘And does my father know of your plans to call?’ asked Delilah.

  ‘No, I did not have time to speak to him.’

  ‘He is here, in Town,’ said Delilah, ‘but plans to leave tomorrow. He is at the moment attending a performance at Astley’s Amphitheatre with Miss Amy.’

  ‘Tell him I am sorry to miss him.’

  ‘How can you be sorry when you did not expect to see either me or him in the first place?’ pointed out Delilah rudely.

  ‘If this is an example of your social manners, Miss Wraxall, then I am not surprised your father decided to ask for expert help.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  Effy flashed Sir Charles a warning look. So, thought Sir Charles, Delilah had been sent away to be schooled. What was up with her? There must be something up with her or she would be married.

  Effy glanced from one to the other. Delilah looked magnificent with her eyes flashing fire. Sir Charles with his lean, athletic body, tanned face, black eyes and fair hair was quite devastatingly handsome. Effy sighed. What a pair of heart-breakers they were.

  ‘I was merely pointing out that you are rude, Miss Wraxall.’

  ‘I fear the war has made you unfit for the drawing room, sir,’ said Delilah, ‘for it is very rude of you to remark on my behaviour.’

  ‘If you are come to Town in the hopes of finding a husband, then that hoydenish manner of yours is going to bring you nothing but failure,’ said Sir Charles.

  Delilah suddenly smiled at him. ‘Oh, my poor Sir Charles,’ she said softly. ‘How blind you are. I can be married at any time I like and to anyone who pleases me.’

  ‘Not to me,’ said Sir Charles.

  ‘Of course not,’ said Delilah sweetly. ‘For you do not please me in the slightest!’

  Sir Charles got to his feet. ‘I wish you the joy of Miss Wraxall’s education,’ he said to Effy. ‘You are going to have a great deal of work.’

  ‘How could you be so horrible, Delilah?’ exclaimed Effy when Sir Charles had left.

  ‘Pooh!’ said Delilah and turned about and started battering the piano again.

  Sir Charles did not see his friend until breakfast the following day. ‘How was your dinner party?’ he asked. Lord Andrew rubbed his bloodshot eyes. ‘Famous, what I remember of it,’ he said. ‘I was telling one of my best stories and suddenly I found myself lying under the table with not the slightest idea of how I got there. My head! My days of racketing around are at an end. Time to get married and settle down.’

  ‘And have you anyone in mind?’

  ‘A divine creature from your part of the world. If I tell you her name, will you give me your sincere promise not to try to cut me out?’

  ‘I promise.’

  ‘Miss Delilah Wraxall.’

  ‘I know her well. Her father is the squire of Hoppleton. As a matter of fact, I got the shock of my life when I found her resident with those Tribbles.’

  ‘Because they advertise for difficult girls? That is not the case with Miss Wraxall. The Tribbles are old friends of her father and she is in no need of schooling. Such divine looks, such grace, such charm of manner!’

  ‘You are fortunate. I appear to bring out the beast in Miss Wraxall. She was most rude to me.’

  ‘Good,’ said Lord Andrew heartlessly. ‘High time you had a set-down. You are a sad philanderer.’

  ‘I? My dear Andrew. When did I ever play fast and loose with any woman’s affections?’

  ‘Before Salamanca. That captain’s widow, you know, pretty little thing. Cried her eyes out when you wouldn’t look at her again. Swore you’d made love to her.’

  ‘I may have flirted a little, but she did encourage me, and it was that rare party when we were all having as much fun as we could in case we died the next day.’

  ‘Mrs Agnew, that was her name,’ said Lord Andrew. ‘You were cuddling her. I saw you.’

  ‘You weren’t exactly behaving like a saint yourself, as I recall,’ said Sir Charles.

  ‘Ah, but I was paying assiduous court to that hardened flirt, Jessica Bond-Fallen. No heart to break there, nor reputation to lose, either.’

  ‘Well, I am sorry. I did not expect her to take me seriously.’

  ‘A rich, handsome, marriageable man is always taken seriously
.’

  Sir Charles fell silent. He remembered kissing Delilah and how the squire had asked him if he had encouraged her in any way. But Delilah could not, surely, have taken him seriously; or, if by any chance she had, then she was too beautiful a creature to remain pining for any man for long. But why had she never married?

  ‘Is she rich as well as beautiful?’ asked Lord Andrew.

  ‘Yes, Miss Wraxall is very rich. How so? You are not short of a shilling.’

  ‘Been dipping deep,’ said Lord Andrew. ‘Do not follow my example. Keep away from the gaming tables of St James’s.’

  ‘I have no intention of playing,’ said Sir Charles. ‘I have no desire to lose my estates.’

  London was in the grip of ferocious gambling fever. At those famous clubs, White’s, Boodle’s, and Brooks’s in St James’s Street, it was nothing for a gentleman to lose thirty thousand or forty thousand pounds in a single evening. Raggett, the proprietor of White’s, used to sit up with the gamblers all through the night, sending his servants to bed, so that he could sweep the carpets himself in the early hours of the morning to retrieve the gold carelessly scattered on the floor.

  Very few of the noble gentlemen who played ever emerged into the street as winners. The one notable exception was the Duke of Portland’s father-in-law, General Scott, who dined simply off boiled chicken, toast and water to keep a clear head and cool judgement at the whist table. In this way, he succeeded in winning the enormous sum of two hundred thousand pounds. It appeared as if the great aristocratic families who had inherited the accumulated wealth of the eighteenth century were hell-bent on squandering the lot in the pleasure-loving days of the Regency.

  ‘I trust,’ said Sir Charles, ‘you are not thinking of marrying Miss Wraxall solely because of her wealth.’

  ‘No, by Gad! Worship the ground she walks on, I assure you. Still, I never did believe in love in a cottage and I would dearly like a wife who would keep me happy by paying for my customary pleasures.’

  Sir Charles fought down a sudden stab of dislike for his friend. Still, if Delilah was the minx she was reputed to be, then she might lead Lord Andrew a merry dance.

  4

  Now, don’t look so glum and sanctified, please,

  For folks, comme it faut, sir, are always at ease;

  How dare you suggest that my talk is too free?

  Il n’est jamais de mal en bon compagnie.

  Charles Brooks

  Delilah had led quite a busy life in the country. Although there were balls and parties, most of the time was taken up with sewing clothes for the poor, visiting the sick, making jams and cordials, gardening, reading, painting, and many other activities.

  It was not that she was idle in London. It simply struck her as rather odd that society should boast of being idle and yet spend so much work and energy on their amusements. Lessons by the music tutor were followed by lessons by a French teacher, then an Italian teacher, and then came a dancing master to show her the steps of the quadrille.

  All this activity did have the merit of making the days pass quickly.

  She had taken affectionate leave of her father, who had again promised solemnly to return in a month’s time and, if she were unhappy, to take her home.

  Delilah did not expect Sir Charles to call again, nor would she admit to herself that, when Lord Andrew told her Sir Charles was staying in London at his house, she had proceeded to encourage the attentions of that young man more than she ought.

  But she could not help wondering whether Sir Charles meant to attend the ball at Lady Burgoyne’s. She wanted him to see how feted she was, how popular with the gentlemen. Even after all those years, it was important to Delilah that Sir Charles should believe that that farewell kiss had meant nothing to her.

  In all, Delilah felt she had enough to do to make the time until her father’s return pass quickly.

  Had it not been for a nagging worry that her father meant to propose to Miss Amy Tribble, Delilah would have been quite happy.

  Amy wandered about in a dream from which Effy’s occasional sharp remarks failed to rouse her. She was remembering and savouring her last talk with the squire.

  They had had a splendid time at Astley’s, cheering the equestrians and crying at the sentimental plays. The squire had called the next day to take his leave of Delilah and then had requested a few moments alone with Miss Amy.

  He had pressed her hand warmly. He had said, ‘I never hoped to be comfortable in the company of a lady after my wife died, Miss Amy. Now, you have changed all that. As soon as Delilah is settled, I must consider my own future. I had not thought to marry again, but . . .’ His voice had trailed off and he had not said any more, but it was enough for Amy. Her only regret was that Mr Haddon was not in London. She hoped he would be back in time to hear of her engagement. Effy could have him. Mr Haddon should learn that he had let a desirable lady escape.

  And then on the afternoon before Lady Burgoyne’s ball, a row erupted which roused even Amy from her dreams.

  Delilah had gone out with Effy to make calls. At Mrs Busby’s, Delilah had met a young miss called Mary Williams who, like Delilah, was in London for the first time. Mrs Busby was her aunt. While their elders were talking, Delilah and Mary shared their first impressions of London. Mary confided in Delilah her hopes of being engaged soon so as to spare her parents the expense of a full Season.

  ‘I am sure you will not have any worries,’ said Mary. ‘The Misses Tribble are accounted very successful at puffing girls off.’

  ‘Indeed!’ exclaimed Delilah. ‘Do they have nieces they have brought out?’

  ‘No, just the people they advertise for. I assume your papa read their advertisement.’

  ‘What advertisement?’ asked Delilah.

  It was then obvious to Mary that Delilah knew very little about the Tribbles. But she was jealous of Delilah’s glowing beauty and said, ‘They advertise for difficult girls, you know, girls whose parents cannot do anything to get them wed. I know this cannot be true in your case, dear Miss Wraxall, but it must make you feel very odd, everyone wondering what is up with you.’

  ‘The Misses Tribble are old friends of my father, that is all,’ said Delilah coldly.

  Mary moved away to talk to someone else. Delilah thought furiously. She thought of all the tutors, the constant admonitions as to how to behave, Lord Andrew’s odd remarks. She could feel her face beginning to burn.

  As soon as they returned to Holles Street, Delilah faced the sisters. Some instinct told her that if she asked them whether her father had answered their advertisement, then they might stick to the fiction that he was simply an old friend. Instead she lied. ‘My father informs me he is paying you to school me,’ she said.

  Amy looked startled, and then said, ‘Well, he might have told us he had told you. He instructed us to say we were old friends of his.’

  ‘So it is true!’ raged Delilah. ‘Why? I have had more proposals of marriage than most women in England.’

  Effy twittered in dismay, but Amy said roundly, ‘You didn’t accept any of ’em. What worries your father is that you led them all on shamelessly, or they would never have come up to the mark. He turned to us because he was at his wits’ end.’

  ‘Why didn’t he tell me?’ cried Delilah.

  ‘Probably thought you wouldn’t listen,’ said Amy. ‘He says you never got over that Sir Charles Digby turning you down. Took your revenge on everyone else.’

  ‘Sir Charles Digby means nothing to me, never did,’ said Delilah. ‘I shall leave this day.’

  ‘You will not leave,’ said Amy, who now viewed herself as Delilah’s stepmother. ‘It is high time you started thinking of other people. Yes! What of your father? How can he get married again with you hanging around his neck?’

  ‘Meaning you hope he will marry you,’ said Delilah.

  Amy threw back her head. ‘Yes,’ she said defiantly. ‘He has more or less declared himself.’

  ‘Oh, poor, poor Amy,’ sighed
Effy. ‘How your wishful thinking does mislead you so.’

  ‘Bitch and hell-cat,’ raged Amy. ‘How can you know anything about love, Effy, you with your chin-straps and face creams and with that embroidered pincushion you call a brain?’

  ‘Listen to both of you,’ jeered Delilah. ‘You are supposed to tell me how to go on? You have the manners of the gutter, Miss Amy.’

  ‘And you have the manners of a slut,’ shouted Amy.

  ‘I am going to write to my father now,’ said Delilah, ‘and I am going to ask him to come to London immediately and take me away.’

  She swept from the room.

  The sisters looked at each other in dismay. Amy sat down and tugged at her hair.

  ‘We handled that very badly,’ said Effy quietly. ‘We cannot afford to lose Delilah. It seemed like a miracle to have work for the Little Season and not to have to wait until the real Season begins.’

  ‘We’ll manage,’ said Amy gruffly.

  ‘You are overset because for some reason you expect the squire to propose marriage,’ said Effy. ‘He will not, Amy. Oh, I know he likes you, but there is nothing of the lover there.’

  Amy looked up. ‘It’s no use hoping it ain’t true, Effy. He said I made him think of marriage.’

  Effy began to cry. ‘What will I do?’ she cried. ‘I shall be left here on my own to manage savage girls.’

  ‘Now, now,’ said Amy. ‘Don’t cry. You can come and live with us.’

  ‘But the country!’ wailed Effy. ‘I hate the country. Oh, are you really sure of this, Amy? What of Mr Haddon?’

  ‘Mr Haddon is fond of both of us, Effy. But face facts. He’s an old stick of a bachelor and will always be that way.’

  Delilah penned a letter to her father and then instructed Harris to have it sent express. Then, when her fury died down, it was replaced by a recurrence of the miserable thought that all her flirting and romancing had been discussed and worried over behind her back. It seemed to Delilah as if the whole of Kent was discussing her humiliation at the hands of Sir Charles and assuming she had turned down so many because she could not have him.